A One Man Team Has Repercussions
by Medea Dracena and Juli
Summary: [Prologue: 14/07] The year 2005 brings new terror and uncertainty to the Wizarding World as old facts are dug up and revisited, The Dark are slowly gaining more power, and people are forced to re-evaluate relationships.


**Title:** A One Man Team Has Repercussions (0/?)  
**Author's names:** Medea Dracena and Juli  
**Author's e-mails: **Medea Dracena and Juli  
**Category: **Darkfic, Romance, Drama, Action, Mystery, Angst  
**Keywords: **Post-Hogwarts, Hermione, Harry, Draco, Ginny, Death Eaters, Darkfic  
**Spoilers: **All four books  
**Rating: **PG-15  
**Summary: **The year 2005 brings new terror and uncertainty to the Wizarding World as old facts are dug up and revisited, The Dark are slowly gaining more power, and people are forced to re-evaluate relationships. Romance! Intrigue! Drama! Action! What more could you want?!**  
****Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Warning:** All characters are adults and will behave as such. Homosexual relationship. Language. Non-graphic sexual material. Murder. General depressing stuff. Rating will go up.  
**A/N:** This is a first collaboration piece for both of us. Be nice and review please! We'd love to know what you think.**

***

**Prologue**

_"A trail of bodies everywhere  
Meets your eye, perfumes the air…"_  
~ Joachim Du Bellay

***

An unusually round, short witch smelling strongly of peppermint waddled down the hallway**,** stopping at the desk placed right in front of the Minister of Magic's office door. Two caramel eyes greeted her. "Hello, Mrs Holmes."

"Hello, Ginny dear. The morning post just arrived. I trust that you will be sure the Minister receives this," the plump woman responded, dropping a large bundle of letters on Ginny's desk. "Oh, I think you even got some post. Something from that rich brother of yours." Ginny let out a sigh. Mrs Holmes patted her robes and ruffled through her postbag in search of the letter before finally finding it. "Here you go, a good day to you, Ginny." With that the round woman turned on her heel and waddled back down the corridor.

Dark purple ink in an untidy scrawl looked up at Ginny from her desk. Yes, that was most definitely Ron's handwriting. _'Better open it'_, she told herself.

Gin -

       I now know that you doubt what I've told you. But it's happened again. I saw her today, it was her. I know it was. You must believe me. It was around two and I apparated into Hogsmeade hoping to have a pleasant walk through familiar territory might clear my head. I even convinced myself that you were right; it was all just hallucinations. The fact that I was going starkers scared me, but I could cope with it. I stopped in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, remembering the days where I would press my face against the glass in awe but knew I could never afford anything. Bad memories those were. Then I started walking towards The Three Broomsticks in hopes of getting a nice glass of butterbeer and then I saw her. She was across the street staring at me with a grin. It was her; I would recognize her anywhere. But she looked different - almost disturbed. I gathered up my courage and was about to confront her, ask her what all this was about but some stupid git practically tripped me and when I looked up, she was gone. She must have apparated. Ginny, please have some faith in my sanity, because what I tell you is true. It was her! Do you understand what this means? She's alive. Hermione isn't dead. Please owl back, we need to talk.

Ron__

Ginny folded the note and placed it in the bottom drawer of her desk. She sighed once more and rubbed the arch of her nose wondering what she should do. When this whole ordeal began nearly a month ago, Ginny was concerned, as any sister would be, and paid him a visit. She wanted to believe him, Merlin knows she did, but she couldn't. Hermione Granger was dead. Had been for years. It was a fact, just like the sky is blue and the grass is green. But why was he doing this to himself? What was happening to him? Was he slowly deteriorating before her eyes? 

She dipped her quill in ink and began to write. 

_Ron-_

_       Please stop pestering me with these letters. I don't know what's going on, but I have more things to think about than this. Keep in mind that I didn't marry money, I actually have a job. I also intend to keep this job but these letters are becoming distracting. If you insist on talking about it, I will do everything I can. Come to my flat tonight for dinner. 7 pm sharp._

_Ginny_

"That ought to keep him out of my hair for at least the remainder of the working day," Ginny murmured to herself as she walked to the owlry with letter in hand and her mind racing with thoughts of what she was going to cook. Maybe she'd just get some take-away.

***

Ron Weasley stepped into his mansion, dropping his keys on the rosewood table next to the door. He loosened his robe as he walked the mile long stretch to his lavishly decorated living room, trinkets from the world over stared back at him as his gaze swept disinterestedly over them. He dropped his navy robe to the floor, revealing black slacks and a cobalt button-up shirt. The top few buttons were undone, parading his slightly toned milky chest with strangely random red bite marks across it. He kicked off his Armani shoes and flopped down onto the vanilla-coloured couch, throwing an arm over his closed eyes and feeling sated and sleepy.

As his breathing slowed and he fell into a satisfied slumber the house elves rushed in and whisked away his abandoned stuff, smelling lightly of a foreign flowery perfume, leaving the living room spotless once more. The sun had started to set and the living room descended into a dull yellow glow, the floating candles above drifting to and fro in their slow, mesmerising pacing.

***

With a jolt, Ron woke up. A delicate hand was tracing patterns down near the waistband of his pants while a warm mouth was sucking lightly on the hollow of his neck, his sensitive spot. The woman, sensing his wakening, left a flurry of butterfly-soft kisses from his neck to his mouth and continued her ministrations there with her talented tongue.

She smiled wantonly as she pulled away slightly and opened her cerulean eyes. "Why, hello, Sleeping Beauty. Glad you've joined me in the living," she said softly, her mouth barely millimetres from Ron's and her eyes dancing with mischief. Her hair was up in a ponytail but wisps of sun-kissed tendrils dangled to trail over his face, tickling it softly.

The woman shifted her weight, causing friction where Ron wanted it the most and least at the moment. He groaned slightly and closed his eyes. "Lav, don't. What if Seamus comes home and sees this? Then you and I are going to be in deep shit from both him and Terry," he gritted out, trying not to let his body betray him at this time. It would most definitely be bad if his husband walked in on them in this compromising position. What would he say to her? 'She thought I was dead and decided to perform CPR'? Oh, yes, that would explain the flushed faces, swollen lips and his major–

"Don't worry, Heart," Lavender Boot purred, interrupting his thoughts and tracing his lips with one manicured finger. "Terry is on a business trip to Germany and Seamus is staying at the office all night because of that big fashion show. He told me to call you but I decided that I'd come and keep you company. After all, it's been over a week." She lowered her head again, fingers undoing the rest of his buttons while her mouth followed. Her eyes slid closed and she didn't see the marks across Ron's chest. Bite marks that were all too fresh.

"Oh, God," Ron moaned and rolled her off him onto the floor and she landed on the carpet with a surprised squeak. Much like a mouse when you poke it. He rolled off the couch after her and landed on top of her, knees and hands on either side of her while his mouth instantly descended to ravish her rose-coloured lips.

He stood up pulling her with him, never breaking their frenzied kiss and they stumbled their way through the manor, tripping up the marble stairs in their haste to reach the master suite. The finally burst through the doors into the sprawling chambers, throwing themselves onto the bed and relieving each other of their restrictive clothing. The darkness enveloped the lovers in a blanket of gloom, shadows moving in the obscurity together.

***

Moonlight shone through the windows and the clock next to the bed stated '00:32' in large, glowing, blue numbers, a small inscription of 'Just turned Saturday. You should be partying, not sleeping, you freak' under the numbers in the same glowing blue. A tangle of limbs and sheets was sprawled across the massive canopy bed. Dark, highly polished, wooden floors gleamed and the open window let in the cool summer night air. An owl hooted and flew into the window, resting on the redhead's pillow and irritably pecking his forehead.

Ron grumbled something unintelligible and waved his hand sleepily, nearly whacking the bird off the bed. It flapped its wings angrily and waited for Ron to settle down before making it's way over to the man's ear and shrieking painfully into it. Ron gave a hoarse yell of surprise and set up in bed, Lavender grunting and rolling onto her front, pulling most of the covers with her and burying her head in a pillow.

"Stupid bird, what?" he snapped and the owl stuck out it's leg, a roll of parchment tied to it. Ron jerkily untied it and picked up his wand from the bedside table and fumbled his way over to his desk in the dark, pointing his wand at the candles hovering above the desk patiently. He muttered a few choice words and light erupted from the wicks, making him squint in the glare. He waited for his eyes to adjust before reading the letter.

_Ron -_

_I waited for you for hours. Where were you? You could have at least owled me to say you weren't coming! I thought you wanted to talk about this absurd notion that Hermione was stalking you. Dinner was prepared and it would have taken you but minutes to send word of your cancellation. Owl me back and tell me what kept you away this time._

_Ginny_

Ron silently cursed. He had forgotten all about his dinner with his sister and now she'd most probably never want to hear about this theory that Hermione was following him. He rummaged around the desk and in his drawers for a clean piece of parchment (making Lavender mumbled something about shutting up and sleeping) but didn't find any. The redhead sat up straight again and caught sight of a clean piece right on top of one of his unread books. He frowned, not remembering seeing it there before. He shrugged and grabbed the piece of parchment. He was tired; he could have easily overlooked it. Ron set his inkpot close to him and dipped his peacock-feather quill into it, the purple ink glistening obsidian in the glimmering light.

Gin –

Sorry, I got caught up with matters at home. How about you come here for dinner, after all—

A creak from outside the hall made Ron stop mid-sentence and turn in his antique chair to stare quizzically at the door he had left ajar. His heart started to pound in consternation at the idea that Seamus had come home early, but there was no clicking of designer shoes. There was no melodious calling of his name, no candles bursting to life as Seamus walked by them (he** hated the darkness). **

Ron waited, quill poised above the parchment. He didn't notice the ink slowly get absorbed into the parchment and form a new set of words. Ron soon turned back to his parchment with a slight frown marring face and instantly did a double take.

_Why, hello, Ron. Word of advice, whatever you do, don't look behind you…_

A coldly warm breeze danced across Ron's neck making his skin break out in goosebumps and his hair stand on end. His breathing became erratic and he scrabbled for his wand. Where was his bloody wand? It wasn't there, he realised in horror. In reflex he turned around only to come face to obscured face with a person draped in a black cloak, their hood pulled up over their head. A dark hood, the inside was too shadowy to make out distinct features. It gave the impression of emptiness. Well, the hood seemed empty save two eyes, two dark, piercingly maddened eyes. He tore his gaze away from those haunting eyes and looked over the person's shoulder at Lavender, sitting up in bed with her sheet pooled around her waist and her torso free of garments. One more cloaked figure stood over her, their leather-gloved hand travelling slowly over Lavender's bare skin. The person who stood between Ron and Lavender pointed a gloved hand at the parchment.

_Aw, I told you not to look. Now, see what you've done to poor Lavender._

Ron's head whipped around and he gave a strangled scream of warning and anger and pain and things he had never thought he could feel as Lavender's head was wrenched violently back and a simple Severing Charm applied. Time seemed to slow down for Ron, his cry of anguish numbed by shock and his movements sluggish as that same shock racked through his body. He tried to get up but he was glued to the seat, whether a charm was utilized or his limbs were just not working, he wasn't quite sure. Lavender fell forwards, the blood drenching the white sheets and seeping into beautiful gold-spun hair. The blood, oh the blood, the scarlet liquid spreading across the sheets and dripping off the bed in an audible _'drip, drip, drip'_ in the silently arctic room. Something in his heart, or maybe it was his stomach (because that's where most of his emotions raged) cracked, a piece of it screaming in the emotional torture of losing something so dear to him. Lavender was his favourite; they'd been at school together.

"There were two things I'd always wanted to do that to that preppy bitch," a vaguely familiar voice drawled. "The first one I did in 6th year, the second one I just executed." The wordplay was painful. Whoever it was, male for sure, tilted his head up a little and the soft candlelight fell on a wide, bloodthirsty grin framing perfect, pearly white teeth.

"You bastard," Ron breathed, not believing this was happening to him. Ron Weasley, multi-galleonaire and husband to famous wizarding designer Seamus Finnigan. Seamus! _'Seamus? No. No, he_**_wouldn't do this. It's not his_**** style. He**** plays mind games; he**** likes that. Not this sick, twisted… stuff,' Ron's mind thought frantically. Who could have sent them? He had plenty of enemies, but none of them would be morbid enough to do this to him, to inflict this kind of suffering on him.**

"Do you want to have the honours?" the man asked, inclining his head towards Ron. "Or do I have to do it?"

"Leave it to me. I just have one thing to do first," the voice from the hood rasped without turning, the dark eyes staring into Ron's, capturing them in horrifying mesmerisation. As the person pulled the deep black hood down they started talking in their normal voice, clear and without emotion, but hard and sharp enough to cut diamonds. "Once a cheater, always a cheater, don't you think, Ronald?"

Ron stared open mouthed. This was that last thing he expected. He tried to work his jaw, but the muscles weren't cooperating with him. "Oh, Lord… I… I…"

"Have gained a speech impediment? Not surprising." The person slowly slid out Ron's wand dangling it teasingly in front of his face with one hand. All of a sudden the person's other hand grasped the other end of the wand and over one knee broke it in half. A clear '_crack!_' and a the sad whine of a dragon pierced the air, the dragon heartstring core snapping fully in half and showing the room in red and white sparkles before dissipating. "I notice you seem to have better control over your temper since last time. Too bad your usefulness hasn't gone up a few notches yet." A long-suffering sigh, mocking, and this time the person's own wand was in hand.

***

Harry Potter rested his hands on his knees, panting as the sweat ran down him in rivulets. The scarlet punching bag still swung from its chain looking more and more battered with each boxing session. Harry resolved to get a new one soon, he didn't want his gym to be covered in smelly, punching bag stuffing, even if Dobby would clean it up quicker than a sprinter on steroids.

He walked over to the side of the gym, and fetched his bottle of water, downing half of it in one go. He bent down and picked up his towel, ridding his face and neck of the salty sweat, and took a quick glance at his discarded Rolex. Nearly one in the morning and he still wasn't tired. He draped the white towel over his shoulders and leaned against the wall, the coolness soothing his perspiring back. Another swig from the drink bottle and he walked over to the treadmill, dropping the damp towel on the floor, and getting on it. He set it to his normal program, a twenty-minute run on a thirty-degree angle with five minutes warm up and five minutes cool down at the end. With a _'beep!' _the contraption started up, making him jog as it slowly increased the angle he was running at. He let his mind slip away and all he had to concentrate on was his breathing, steadily in… and out, and putting one foot in front of the other. His body switched to autopilot, leaving his mind free to wander across various subjects, most of them regarding the latest attack by Voldemort and his minions.

The most recent had ended with Harry getting bloodily beaten up, so much that his Godfather, Sirius Black, had to rush him to intensive care in the Order of the Phoenix's medical facility before he lost any more of his rapidly draining blood. It had been one of the many Dark attacks that had been pulled off, few of which went off without a hitch and all of which were damaging to the Light and the people they were protecting. Harry felt his mind boil over with rage one again; an angry, black, storm cloud gathering about his head and throwing off sparks of lightening. It irked him to no end that Voldemort knew the Order and their minds so well that he anticipated many of their moves. There was, of course, the threat of an inside informant but all of the higher heads were completely and utterly devoted and loyal to the Order and what it stood for and the lower people had no inkling about the more important happenings. Hell, they didn't even know they had a mission until scarcely hours before leaving. Most definitely not enough time for Voldemort to rally his forces and plan a strategic defence. How was he doing it?

***

"I'm sorry, Ron. I really am. It wasn't supposed to end like this." Ron shook his head, backing up in his chair and falling out of it. He crawled backwards, the passive face staring at him with that madman flicker in those cruel, cold eyes; agonisingly slow footsteps deliberate as the person followed his every scuttling movement across the floorboards. "There's no pain, Ron, and you'll be in a better place."

"How do you know what it's like to die?" Ron asked, buying time and cursing for not going to the other side of the room where Lavender's wand was poking out of her robe.

The person merely shrugged and chuckled, every pore of their body exuding an aura that spoke volumes of what they knew about dying. 

Softly. 

"_Avada Kedavra_."

***

Without warning Harry cried out in agony, clutching his scar and clawing at it with his blunt nails. It hadn't been this bad in years. Twangs occasionally but never this feeling of pure torture, pain shooting through from his scar to his screaming brain and out to the very tips of his sweaty body. Stars burst in front of his vision, giving him his own personal fireworks show minus the beauty and fun-loving atmosphere.

A fleeting vision erupted across the inside of his eyelids. Ron sprawled out on the floorboards of his lavish manor. A blond woman on the bed. Ron's eyes glazed over. Mouth open in shock. Both bodies slack. Moonlight shimmered through the windows. Sheer white curtains billowing. A tall, cloaked figure. Staring down at that freckled face. Dark eyes. Looking straight at Harry. Accusing. _'You did this, Potter…'_

A last stab of searing, white-hot pain in his scar and the visions faded, but that voice, that chilling voice that was so familiar yet so alien, spun around his mind, dancing with every memory he owned but never quite matching any of their rhythms. The throbbing of his scar was now a dull ache compared to the pain ripping through the middle of his face. He lifted a trembling hand to his face and wiped away what he thought were unorthodox tears, but his fingers left his ravaged face covered in thick, scarlet blood. He took a deep breath and instantly choked on the blood, resisting the automatic gagging action and realising why he was breathing through his mouth in the first place. Harry licked his lips, tasting the metallic blood and looked up into the bugged-out eyes of a hovering Dobby who was asking over and over 'Is Mister Harry Potter ok?', 'Does Harry Potter, sir, want Dobby to call a mediwizard?' and the likes. The treadmill lay dormant, the lock key having been pulled out by Harry when he collapsed. He lifted his knee off the carpet, noting with a grimace that he would have to get his legs fixed up too, and stood up, teetering a little bit while his vision swam into obscurity and cleared again. He wiped his sweat-matted hair from his eyes and held his nose.

Calmly. "Dobby, I think it's time for my shower. Call a mediwizard for me, thanks."

***

"Dammit, Ron," Ginny muttered as she climbed off her broom and leaned it towards the fence. There was a dark overcast giving the entire scene an eerie feeling, but then again, it was always like that in northern England. She was mad that Ron was acting like such a child. Not returning her owl, not coming over last night.

He was just trying to scare her, she thought, maybe even trying to make her feel guilty for writing such a harsh reply. She didn't know.

After stomping on dead leaves for what seemed like forever, she arrived at the front door of the vast estate that was inherited by her brother-in-law – supposedly it had been in their family for generations. Ginny knocked on the door and looked at her reflection in the pain of glass. 

Her fiery hair was an absolute mess, her cheeks bright pink from the cold. She knocked again, growing impatient. Still no answer. _'Bloody hell, what were they doing that was so important that they couldn't answer the damn door?'_ She knocked again and still there was no answer, not even from his vast army of house elves. She grabbed the glinting brass doorhandle; it was cold but surprisingly open. 

The house was dark and silent except for her footsteps as she walked through the manor. Ginny had only been there a few times, she had tried to avoid it as much as possible since she didn't care for Seamusall that much now that the man had an ego bigger than Hogwarts and Hogsmeade put together.

"Ron! Seamus! Anyone here?" she yelled at the top of her lungs. No response. She was no longer mad, she was worried. They had to be home, they wouldn't just leave their house open like that. Where were the lights? The warmth? The cheerfully helpful house elves? The vast floor plan of the mansion felt like a maze, she took a sharp right recognizing the long hall leading to the master bedroom. Something was wrong; she could sense it. Women's intuition is a powerful thing.

Nothing except the sound of the wind rustling the curtains. The door was slightly ajar but she knocked for good measure. Still no response, so she slipped in. It was a small room with a loud Asian rug covering the highly polished wooden floors. A rush of cold air blew towards her. 

"Oh, God!" Ginny screamed as she collapsed to the side of the body. Red hair in a mess, an expression of horror on his sparsely freckled face, eyes still open starring lifelessly at the ceiling. He was dead… her brother was dead. To Ginny, it felt like her entire world had collapsed. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She reached out a violently shaking hand and laid it on Ron's face, her hair hanging around them like a soft velvet curtain. Her tears fell onto his pallid face and she let out a racking sob and cried in pain. She had known loss when her father had died all those years ago but this was different. This wasn't her father dying; this was her Hogwarts mentor, her brother, the one she ran to when she was hurt, the one she played with the most as a child. He was the person who wouldn't let any harm come to her, he was the one who had interrogated all her boyfriends, helped her with homework, played chess with her when no one else was around, comforted her when she was sad.

Ginny fell forwards and clung to Ron's naked chest, the coldness of his body nothing like the warmth that had previously radiated from him. When was the last time she had told him she loved him? When was the last time she gave him a hug? She couldn't even remember the last time they had talked like brother and sister. The last time they had exchanged gossip, talked about nothing in particular or not talked at all, just enjoyed each other's silent company.

She clawed at his chest, hiccups coming from her as she cried like the world had collapsed around her very ears. "Why, Ron?" she moaned, each word tearing from her, "Who did this to you?"

Ginny lifted her gaze to the desk and through her tear-blurred eyes saw the peacock-feather quill lying on its side, ink still mysteriously wet. She stood up, knowing there was nothing she could do for her brother. She made her way tentatively to the desk and saw only a piece of single parchment on it. It was in her brother's handwriting. The last letter he had ever written was addressed to her, an apology and an invitation. She bit her lip, tears spilling down her cheeks in glistening tracks once more and folded the parchment, tucking it into the pocket of her robe and disapparating to the Ministry.

Gin –

Sorry, I got caught up with matters at home. How about you come here for dinner, after all _A One Man Team Has Repercussions_

***_._

**To Be Continued…  
_In Chapter 1: The Dream Team and Co.'s last year at Hogwarts._**


End file.
